


Chaihard

by kekinkawaii



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kekinkawaii/pseuds/kekinkawaii
Summary: Castiel just wants his coffee. It's a shame he's blind without his glasses and too busy with school to notice the cute barista's attempts to talk to him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 24
Kudos: 147





	Chaihard

**Monday**

Castiel walked into the coffee shop and ordered a coffee. The ambiance was light, with a hint of chatter. Then, he left.

He had a paper due in two hours and he was neck deep in research that should’ve been researched many days ago.

**Tuesday**

Castiel walked into the coffee shop and ordered a coffee with an extra shot of espresso. It was quieter today, with less people. Perhaps it was because of the time, Castiel pondered. It was 3PM, the strange junction between lunch and the grateful end of a long day of classes. 

Castiel gladly embraced the milder atmosphere, as it made it easier to run through his study notes in his head for the exam he had tomorrow morning that he had somehow forgotten about in his haste and hurry to finish the paper he’d handed in yesterday.

The barista asked for his name this time. Castiel debated on telling him his real name, weighed the chances of him getting the spelling right, and decided to go with a simpler _Cas_ instead.

He sipped it as he walked out of the store, bell jingling lightly. He made a soft noise in his throat, and glanced at the cup with a bit of surprise. It tasted better than it usually did.

He finished it quicker than he usually did, and rode the buzz of caffeine for the rest of the night.

**Wednesday**

Castiel walked into the coffee shop and ordered a coffee, one extra espresso shot, extra-large.

Anna from Physics had ran into him on the way out the classroom today, Castiel too distracted thinking about the absolute hellion of an exam he’d just taken to see where he was going and Anna too frazzled. Castiel’s glasses had been knocked off his face and toppled onto the floor, where they were promptly stepped on by a pair of Birkenstocks.

The legs had been bent beyond salvation, and the sad little pieces of his glasses were currently residing in his backpack, because he didn’t have any tape until he returned to his dorm.

It wouldn’t be a big deal, he tried to reassure himself. He was nearsighted anyway. It wasn’t like it was going to affect his studying. He always held his textbooks too close to his face, after all.

There was something written on the blackboard next to the register. Castiel squinted at it until the blurry lines morphed into something recognizable. It was a deal _—buy a coffee and get a scone half off!_ —written in a scrawling, carefree handwriting. 

“I’d like a scone as well, please,” he said. The library didn’t allow food or drinks. Perhaps that would tide him over all the way until dinner. 

“Sure thing, sunshine,” the barista said. His voice was low, Castiel noticed, with a slight lean on the end, a lazy drawl that reminded him of hot asphalt and a cloudless Southern sky. “What kind?”

“What do you offer?”

The barista swept his hand across the glass display to the left of the two of them. “Lemon, raspberry, blueberry, Earl Grey,” he listed off.

“I’ll take an Earl Grey, please,” Castiel said.

“You got it. Cas, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, slightly surprised. He glanced up from the row of scones to the barista’s face—which was fairly unrecognizable, features hazy. Actually, he kind of just looked like everyone else from this distance. Castiel’s vision was truly atrocious. He hoped he didn’t know the barista from another class and was unintentionally being rude by acting like they were strangers.

The _Cas_ sprawled across his coffee cup seemed to be the same handwriting as that of on the blackboard. Castiel nibbled at the scone on his way out the door. It was warm, crumbly, and delicious.

**Thursday**

Castiel walked into the coffee shop, ordered a coffee, and didn’t leave this time. Rather, he picked out the seat closest to the open window facing a row of lilacs, and pulled out his laptop.

The library closed at 7PM on Thursdays and Fridays, which was completely ridiculous, if you asked Castiel. He usually would use it as an indicator to take a break, walk around campus, and then get an early night’s sleep, but he had gotten his exam back this morning and the results were so god-awful that he simply couldn’t stand to sit around and do nothing for the rest of the night. He had another paper for the same class due next week, and he was adamant on pulling his average back up.

He sat down at the table and drank his coffee and researched and jot-noted and drafted and outlined and wrote and wrote and wrote until his wrists hurt and his eyes burned and his glasses were in danger of coming apart at the legs, the tape dangerously weakened from hours of constantly pushing them back up the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t realize how dark it had gotten until he heard someone clear their throat next to him, and he looked up only to blink at the sudden absence of light.

“We’re closing,” the newcomer announced.

“Oh,” Castiel said, and closed his laptop. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” the barista said lightly. “Studying hard?”

Castiel simply nodded in response, his mind still fuzzy, filled with facts about fractals and factorials and other, less PG-13 F-words. Blinking hard to clear his vision, he began to pack away his things, fingers slightly clumsy with overuse.

“You want a refill to tide you over for the night?”

Castiel couldn’t tell if he was joking. “If you’re offering,” he said.

The barista hummed. “Nah,” he said finally. “I think you should get some rest. Some beauty sleep. Not that you need it, of course, but—y’know. Self care and all that.”

Castiel frowned just the slightest. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but that sentence didn’t make any sense to him just now. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” the barista said. “Okay. Cool. Just remember to relax, y’know? Long week, large coffees, and extra shots can take a lot outta someone. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Okay,” Castiel said again, oddly touched but too bleary to express his gratitude properly.

The barista coughed. “Anyway. I’ll, uh, take that cup for you?”

Castiel reached for his coffee cup (which was long empty) at the same time that the barista leaned over to pick it off the table. Their fingers brushed, and the barista’s hand twitched and shied away. His fingers were warmer than Castiel’s. 

“Have a nice night, Cas,” the barista said when Castiel pushed open the door and stumbled out with stiff, baby-deer legs.

Dammit, Castiel thought, sliding into awareness as the chill of fresh evening air hit him like a refresher in the face. Did he know that guy?

**Friday**

Castiel walked into the coffee shop. His eyeglasses were finally replaced, and he viewed the shop with fresh, admiring eyes—everything from the sharpness of the countertops and the splashes of colour on the walls. The deadline for the paper had been pushed back a week, and everyone had performed so poorly in the exam that Castiel’s curved grade was actually rather fantastical.

The shop was called The Beanery, he found out today. He hadn’t noticed until now. 

The barista looked up when Castiel approached. He had bright green eyes and freckles, and the smile that spread across his face was enough to make Castiel stumble on the spot.

“Heya, Cas,” the barista greeted. “How’s it goin’?”

Startled, Castiel said, “Fine,” without thinking.

“What’s it gonna be today?” the barista— _Dean,_ the nametag read—Castiel hadn’t even noticed they had nametags—asked. “Let me guess—double shot espresso, extra-large?”

“Um,” Castiel stammered. A realization was dawning upon him. “Actually, can I have a chai?”

“Damn,” Dean said. “Good for you. Taking my advice from yesterday, huh?”

Oh, fuck. Dean was the barista from yesterday?

Dean punched some buttons on the cashier. “You want another scone with that? The deal is on for Fridays, too.”

Oh, fuck. Dean was the barista from _all of the days?_

“Do I know you?” Castiel blurted.

Dean’s fingers stilled on the buttons. “Depends on what you mean by that.”

“I mean—do you know me?” Castiel reiterated.

Dean’s smile turned slightly confused. “Kind of? You’re the cute, grumpy caffeine-addicted study-bug who comes in every day for a coffee. As for the other way around… I’m your barista, Dean Winchester, at your service.” He did a little faux-curtsy on the spot.

“Oh,” Castiel said, and then, “Can I have a scone? Blueberry this time.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Dean said.

Minutes later, when Dean handed Castiel his order, Castiel couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Dean, wait,” he tripped out.

Dean paused, cocked his head.

Castiel said, “I’ve been… rather mentally absent the past week. Busy. And my eyeglasses were stepped on by a pair of Birkenstocks. I haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings apart from my studies. If I were rude, or dismissive, I sincerely apologize for it.”

Dean laughed. “Cas, I deal with angry customers every single day. You’re a godsend compared to them.”

“Nonetheless,” Castiel insisted. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Dean said. “Although, there _is_ a way you could make it up to me.” He paused. “Have coffee with me. And _not_ here.”

Castiel was stunned. “Really?”

“Well, I was hoping so,” Dean mumbled. “It’s fine if you don’t want to, obviously.”

“No,” Castiel said.

Dean’s face fell, but he recovered quickly. “That’s okay—”

“No more coffee,” Castiel continued. “I think I’ve had enough of that this week. Do you like burgers?”

“I love burgers,” Dean said, hesitant but hopeful.

“Then have dinner with me,” Castiel said. “This weekend.”

Dean’s smile was bright enough to fill Castiel’s chest with a flickering glow.

Castiel returned the smile. “Give me your number?”

“Already did,” Dean said, and gestured at the cup in Castiel’s hands. 

Castiel turned it over. Written across the cup was a row of seven numbers, again in that same handwriting, with a heart looped at the end of the last digit.

His chai tasted better than any of the coffees he had that week.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an absolute sucker for coffee shop AUs.  
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope this fic brightened your day at least a little <333


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